The Flat
by manukmanuk
Summary: Very mild 3X4X3. Trowa and Quatre live in a flat. It is the unspoken rule. Can Quatre ever get out of a place where he must turn on the oven for an hour to kill the cockroaches before he cooks?


Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters here, but the idea is mine.  
  
*******  
  
They had been living in The Flat for nearly 3 months now, and Quatre wasn't happy. The flat would have been a veritable plague pit, if not for the cats they owned, and that was how Quatre described it when he was in one of his more benign moods. It was situated in what could only be described as the armpit of the extremely expensive town in which they lived.  
  
And the reason they were living in that flat was...?  
  
Because Trowa was paying for it. And to keep this little crap hole which was generously termed a 'residence', he had his normal job at the local theme park to go to where he worked with Catherine and also did overtime by cleaning out the elephant house and the lions sleeping area (Quatre wasn't happy with the smell he brought back either), and worked at the local 'Pizza Hut' which was famous for its ancient pizza recipes that had been around for hundreds of years. He was, undoubtedly, the best delivery boy that they'd ever had; Trowa could ride a motorbike very well, had an incredibly good sense of direction so could always find the right address, and nobody ever short changed him, so intimidated they were; he often got a tip that was worth more than the pizza he had just delivered. He was getting his greatest income from this part time job alone.  
  
That was only part of what bothered Quatre, after all, Trowa would have at least have had Sundays off, right?  
  
Wrong.  
  
In the year AC197 pressure groups across the Earth Sphere got together to form a large protest march demanding that the Gundam Pilots were tried for war crimes. This large group was met by other, more liberal pressure groups and most of the female teenage population. Because of the split opinions on the subject, and quite a few reminders by Relena Dorlian of the pilots role in the saving of the world, the judge was lenient enough to just give them 6 hours of community service every week for the next 30 years, in an attempt to placate both sides.  
  
And that was Trowa's Sunday gone, but that wasn't all.  
  
The flat that they lived in consisted of three rooms. It was supposed to have four, one living room/kitchen, one bathroom and two bedrooms. The problem with one of the bedrooms was that you'd be lucky to fit a pot plant in there, and as a guest room its potential was in the minus figures. If they ever wanted to invite Duo and Hilde to their flat for a week or so then they would have to a)sleep standing up b)share their double bed with them or c) sleep in the bath tub. The spare bedroom was currently being used for the storage of dried foods as a fridge would probably also end up sharing a bed with them. The bath tub was another sore point for Quatre; he swore that the hot water tank was at least half the size of his bladder, and there was no shower head which meant it too up to three times longer than usual to wash his hair in the mornings.  
  
And Trowa's DIY family wasn't helping the cramped conditions any. Only he didn't really do it himself (of that Quatre was pretty sure and very grateful). One day Trowa had brought home two cats; two heavily pregnant cats. Less than two weeks later two litters had been born. To add to Quatre's growing consternation Trowa named the one of the mother cats Master Splinter and named her kittens Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael; the other female cat got the name of Judy with her four kittens Milo, Fizz, Bella and Jake. They now had ten cats to fit in the flat and feed along with cat litter trays to empty, which usually ended up being Quatre's job unless he wanted to wait for Trowa to do it at around 1 in the morning. As to the names of the cats Quatre had actually asked Trowa once: "Why did you name them that?"  
  
And Trowa had replied, quite seriously, "It's what we always watched."  
  
Quatre had asked, "Who's we?" With extra special emphasis on the 'we', to make sure that Trowa knew he was treading on very thin, very slippery metaphorical ice at that moment.  
  
"The mercenaries. I was in the shift that was just perfect for us eat our breakfast while watching the 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles', and to eat our evening meal over 'The Tweenies'."  
  
This rather bizarre rendition of the actions of the cold, hardened mercenaries had passed Quatre's scrutiny; after all, he had been surprised to one day walk in on the Magunacs watching 'Clifford the Big Red Dog'. It seemed to be something that devoted (or at least experienced) soldiers did. The only reason that Quatre could think of was that they were trying to reclaim some of the innocence they lost on the battlefield. Anyway, they were grown men and could do what they wanted. It wasn't quite as out of place as Heero's love of Jane Austen's works; that was really, well, weird.  
  
But that wasn't the point. The point was that Quatre was a tad annoyed; that was why he was considering garrotting Trowa with one of his violin strings.  
  
Quatre was currently waiting by the front door for Trowa, who was now known, in Quatre's sleep deprived and incredibly claustrophobic brain, as his nemesis.  
  
The door opened and in shuffled...something. A something that smelled of elephant and lion faeces. A something that had a 'Pizza Hut' uniform on. A completely knackered something.  
  
These signs indicated that the something was, in fact, Trowa. This was the cue to strike.  
  
In less time than it took a sloth to blink Quatre had stumbled his way towards Trowa and was now gripping him by the brightly coloured clown's tie around his neck.  
  
Each word was said very deliberately and slowly, "When," big gasp of air, "are," another gasp, "we," the biggest gasp yet, "moving!?"  
  
Trowa was surprised that Quatre couldn't seem to breathe considering that he was the one that was holding Trowa, tightly, by his neck. But Trowa wasn't going to let his warped and twisted ideals go just yet; the situation couldn't be that dire. "What is so bad about this flat?" he asked. What had meant to come out confidently had just ended up as coming out petulantly due to extreme fatigue.  
  
"You don't have to stay here that much! You get the privilege of always being out! I'm beginning to wish that Winner Enterprises was more taxing on my personal time! And remember how I hired help in the form of my sisters and some of the more business literate Magunacs? So that I could have some spare time to spend with you and my friends!? Well, now I just spend my free time cleaning out the cat litter boxes and wielding a can of bug spray to stop the cockroaches from taking over! And they don't pay rent! I've got to turn the fan oven on full to kill the little buggers if we ever want to eat anything using that thing!" It was about now that Quatre ran out of steam.  
  
Trowa took this opportunity to explain his side of the argument. "You don't understand-"  
  
"Thanks for informing me."  
  
"If I didn't pay for the flat I would feel...well..."  
  
"Inadequate?" Quatre suggested having regained his breath a lot faster than Trowa had predicted.  
  
"Um...that isn't quite the word that I would have used, but, I suppose that it is true. It would make me feel inadequate." He seemed to be tasting the word as he said it.  
  
"Why?" Quatre suddenly asked.  
  
"Why?" Trowa repeated.  
  
"Yes, why?"  
  
Oh dear, this would be hard. Thinking quickly Trowa came up with something that was vaguely plausible. "For my entire life I've relied on other people. The mercenaries, Cathy, you, and probably my parents, but I can't really remember that. I've always wanted to have a chance to be the...bread winner, so to speak." The sentence was finished softly and even with a trace of grief. Trowa was secretly exulting, that had sounded pretty good.  
  
"Trowa...I know that that was a load of crap. You're never emotional when you talk about your feelings and, for another thing, you looked after yourself and did the bit where you look after others during the war, remember. Besides I'm the only Winner here; the name Barton is known, these days, as an euphemism for loser! The original Trowa was a loser, Dekim Barton was a loser, Maremaia lost and didn't succeed with that second war she tried to start," Quatre's eyes lit up in an incredibly disturbing manner. "But I believe I have a solution!"  
  
"What is it and do I really want to know?"  
  
Quatre ignored the second question and simply answered the first, "Percentages!"  
  
Trowa looked confused.  
  
So Quatre explained in greater detail, which wasn't hard considering the amount of detail he had gone into in the first place. "If we spend, say, 20% of our yearly salaries on a house each, then, not only will it be fair between us, but we will have room for the cats and enough room to get changed in without opening the front door in the mornings."  
  
Quatre was exaggerating about the flat size but the rest of the plan made sense. He could have normal working hours and could possibly get some more cats.  
  
Two months later the two were now living in a 50 room mansion, of which Trowa owned about half of one of the shower cubicles and all of the 29 cats.  
  
They now had a cleaning lady who came every day to clean up after the cats and Trowa had given up working overtime and his part time job, and so just worked his normal job, with normal hours, and his community service. The only problem was that work was now 20 miles away, but that wasn't really a problem as he still had at least 6 extra hours a day in which to drape himself over Quatre.  
  
Quatre was also happy; he was working sensible hours at a job that paid well and automatically granted him a high social status, even if he found it to be excruciatingly boring. He was also living a lifestyle that suited him much more that the previously vacated 'residence', and Quatre was actually enjoying the cats company, now that he wasn't coughing up fur balls.  
  
And to Quatre's even greater joy, Trowa started naming the cats after soap characters, rather than children's television characters which he assumed was more normal for a grown man.  
  
At this rate they could end up living happily ever after.  
  
*******  
  
A/N: My reason for doing this was because I am sick of the 3X4 Stereotype that Trowa and Quatre get a cosy flat and Quatre quits Winner Enterprises and becomes a musician or something. I believe that Quatre would remain as the head of the Winner family, if only out of respect for his dead father. But there is also his sisters expectations and the fact that he had been groomed for that role. I'm sure he could handle pressure a lot better than many would believe, though I don't believe he would be so stupid as to do it without help. The Magunacs are a testament to the fact that he doesn't mind asking for help. Quatre's also rich and is likely to stay that way.  
  
It is not the story line that annoys me, I've read some good variations of this stereotype, but it seems to have become an unwritten rule that they have a small flat that Quatre would be unlikely to consider with his grotesquely large budget. I just really am beginning to hate that flat. 


End file.
